


History's Scars

by IntrovertedbutBooksmart



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: .w., AND!, America being America (Hetalia), Angst AF, Civil War, Confederacy got some shhiitt, Confederate Army, Countries feel the pain of the land, Countries feel the pain of the people, December 7, Geographically close countries feeell, Hhhhhhh, Hiroshima, I like civil war too much, Like Canada on 9/11, Lincon assassination, M/M, Murderialization, Nagasaki, Naybe?, Never forget 9/11/01, Oh yeah other things, Pearl Harbor - Freeform, Revolution?, September 11 Attacks, Texas is a thing, That got deep with Anerica, Until this, also, and, cri, i think im a sadist, oh!, y'know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 00:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10478451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedbutBooksmart/pseuds/IntrovertedbutBooksmart
Summary: 9/11/01--- Never ForgetBasically scenarios/one shots of historical events. Specifically painful ones. Ex: Civil War, Hiroshima/Nagasaki, etc...Country point of view.





	1. 9/11/01 Part I

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER!!! I DO NOT WANT TO OFFEND ANYONE WITH THIS!! PLEASE! Also, I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any characters involved.

  It was a clear, crisp September morning in America.

  ....Consequently, however, America itself was stuck at a table.

  Between a tea-drinking England and an ever impatient Germany.

  By now, in America, families would just be waking up, enjoying the smell of sizzling bacon mixed with the ever sweet taste of freedom. Tuesday morning for America was peaceful as ever.

  It was, what, eight-ish when the meeting began? With snacks of each country's choice- America with a classic hamburger, of course- Italy began off the meeting, for once, about why each country should start mass-producing white flags.

  Later, say, 8:15-ish, America started growing suddenly restless. He twitched, tapping the table or bouncing occasionally. Not many- save for Canada and England- noticed, as they were listening to France's speech on the 15 benefits of pubic nudity.

  Surprisingly, none of the other countries actually intervened or interrupted. ...But rather, there was just this... This  _atmosphere_ surrounding everyone. Like it absorbed all of the energy of the room. By now, at 8:30, England is one of the only few giving actually helpful speeches. Since the attention focused next to him, several others began noticing America's odd movement.

  It's 8:45 when America stands to begin his presentation of supposed mutated football players.

  But he never began.

  In the mere nanoseconds of hesitation, American Airlines flight 11 is purposely crashed into floor 93 of the North tower of the World Trade Center, instantly killing hundreds of innocent American civilians.

  And the pain-  _Oh, god the pain_...

  It was worse than anything he's ever dreamed of experiencing. Just a sudden, explosion of it, like being stabbed with a knife  _over, and over, and..._

  Instantly, the nation leaned forward, clutching his chest with a cry of unbearable pain. England and Canada, too, feel just a small twinge of terror of the poor American people. Though, no one in the room could even process what was happening.

  He forced his arm to support his shaking body. The two nations nearest- Germany and England- are the first to rush towards America. There's a sudden scar- a slashing of sorts- embedding deeply into America's flesh, hitting his sternum, the terror of the people physically destroying him.

  The people-  _his people--_ his brave, kind, loving, invincible, honorable, innocent, passionate, heroic, patriotic  _people..._ hundreds- possibly thousands suddenly dead. The pain is indescribable.

  There was yelling. Something about 'There's so much blood!' or maybe 'France! Do something--!' Faces blurred by, black spots dancing in America's vision. The scene was fading between piles of rubble, children screaming, and the concerned nations.

  Oh, but that was hardly the beginning. It felt like only moments later when United Airlines flight 175 crashes into several floors below in the South tower, another tsunami of pain overpowering the nation's thoughts. Again, scars slashed into his flesh. The crimson view in front of him increased, despite England's best attempts to bind the uncaused wound.

  Blood covered his clothes by now, England's hands with them. He being the only one with actual medical experience, he did what he could with what he had. His hands trembled, shaking with the previously unknown fear of harming the country he once cared for even more.

  Through all the terror. All the pain, and all the screaming of the land, America, placed his bloodied hands upon England's. The other nations could only wait, watching in absolute horror as they awaited assistance from whomever they called.

  The sudden, mind-breaking pain of American Airlines flight 77, too, crashing into the Pentagon was far too much to handle, slashing open the nation's heart this time. It felt so real. For the first time since the whole attack began, America, the supposed fearless hero, screamed. He couldn't cry out previously, the sudden attack of his people knocking the breath from him. But this... Now he could feel the burning, the feeling of American flesh melting in the flames of the Pentagon. He could see it. His loyal Americans dying as he cried out.

  The final plane, United Airlines flight 93 crashes and burns in the fields of Pennsylvania, killing only more citizens. This final one struck something deep in America. These people in this plane... He heard what they said. The desperation in their voice as they took back control of the plane, saying their final goodbyes. He knew this plane would've otherwise destroyed D.C.

  Just knowing this, it murdered the nation on the inside. He could see the present now. He could see him being rushed somewhere... It all passed in a blur. He felt a final, overpowering stab of pain, knowing that this moment was real- that his people were dead.

  The thought shook him.

  And the world went black.


	2. 9/11/01 Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the sudden attack during the world meeting.

  The council just... sat. An awkward, somewhat horrified silence covered the nations, several stealing glances to the empty chair at the end of the table, between a trembling, nervous England, America's blood still on his hands. He didn't seen to care. On the other side of the chair, a guilty, stern Germany.

  Not that any of the nations cared or even noticed, but another chair was empty as well: Canada was with the unconscious America. It was about this time, less than an hour after the attack, was when the first phone went off. Japan's. 

  "Will you turn that bloody thing off?!" Snarled England. However, as the final word escaped his lips, his own, small phone went off. Then another. And another, and so many more. Each phone spurted out an alarming, attention-grabbing alarm. Nervously, each country briefly read the announcement on their screen.

  'Four attacks upon America: Twin Towers fall, Pentagon and D.C. nearly destroyed.'

  'Quatre attaques contre l'Amérique : Twin Towers de l'automne, Pentagone attaqué, D.C. presque détruit.'

  'Vier Angriffe auf Amerika: Twin Towers fallen, Pentagon angegriffen, GLEICHSTROM, fast zerstört.'

  'Cuatro ataques en América: la ca-'

  Oh.  _Oh._

The ringing stopped as suddenly as it began.

  There was a collective shock in the room.

  And the nations exploded.

  "Four attacks? Of what sort?"

  "The Twin Towers... New York?"

  "Oh, Amérique..."

  "So that explains..."

  "What do they mean, 'D.C nearly destroyed?!'"

  As if on cue, their phones went off again, voices quieting quickly.

  'Four planes: American Airlines flights 11 and 77 and United Airlines flights 175 and 93 hijacked at approximately 8:16 AM this morning. Flight 11 was purposely crashed into the North tower....'  

  The story continued on, the look of horror growing on most of the nation's faces. Then they read the final attack.

  'The last of the four attacks was, no doubt, aimed towards Washington D.C. However, the American citizens aboard the flight fought back, seizing control of the final plane. They sent and recorded their final words there, before the plane crashed into the fields of Pennsylvania. It should be known that, without the brave actions of these citizens, America would be left broken, and without a president.'

  A dull tension filled the conference. As each nation finished reading, they set the phone down, the majority of them in shock.

 

 

  It was about an hour after the attack, around ten AM, when the nation regained his strength. He bolted upright, instantly recognizing the constant bleeping of the machine. A hospital? No, no, he didn't need this. He was a nation! America! The hero! So why d-

  "...over two thousand, likely thee thousand reported dead in the attacks. And the numbers are still climbing. President George W. Bush finishing up the address of the attacks."

  The T.V. in the small room was playing, and he felt an immense guilt in his gut. Why? Why did he just sit by while his people  _burned?_ How  _dare_ he ju-

  "...America?" There was a familiar voice on the other side of the room. Canada. He seemed nervous. Bush addressed the attacks? His hope climbed. No- not his hope. The people's. They were gathering together again in moral. "A- America...?" Canada seemed oddly nervous now. 

  Why? Who? The newly unearthed, burning sense of patriotism that was recently forgotten by all of America soared like the free wings of the Bald Eagle. He looked towards Canada, with a glance so deadly, so hard and so furious, Canada flinched a bit. His feelings morphed. First shock. Why were so many dead? Then horror. Would this happen again, and again? Then anger. Then undying, burning fury that shouldn't be contained in one body like it was.

  America stood, thankful that he still wore the same clothes he came in with, tearing out the IV's. They were but pinpricks. This was America. Loathing. Furious. Brave. Determined. For his people. He would find who did this, even if it meant his own death, just to strangle the life from whoever had the audacity to shed American blood upon American soil. Even Canada's cries for him to stop did nothing.

  The nation of freedom was on a warpath.

  His beautiful people... He could sense their own rebuilding patriotism. Their own fury. The country came together as never before, for through flesh and blood, they were American brothers and American sisters, and 9/11 would never change that.

  America walked with a purpose, right out of the stuffy hospital, Canada following behind him, sprinting to keep up. The World Meeting was most definitely over, but that didn't prevent the renewed America from throwing the door open to the usual World Meeting area.

 

 

  The meeting was at a standstill. There was shock. And anger. And disgust. But no pity. Not a bit. Even Cuba seemed worried. Italy seemed to completely forget his white flag, and England was just trying not to murder somebody at the moment. The meeting had, once again, broke out into rapid conversation. Arguing and questioning and even some crying filled the room, getting louder with each moment. Clearly, none of the world's problem's would  be solved today.

  It's eleven by now. They should've left long ago. But there was so much talking, no one seemed to car-

  The heavy door was thrown open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you intend on writing a short thing but it turns into three parts. 09/11/01 Part 3's gonna end 9/11. Then Civil war. What was that about going in the correct order?


	3. 12/07/41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pearl Harbor- December 7th, 1941

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied lol -\\_(._.)_/-

  "America, please!" England begged. "France isn't going to last much longer. The European powers can't keep going like this!"

  "I am afraid to say that Arthur is right. I'm surprised we haven't fallen yet, _Amerique_."

  "You guys  _know_ I can't! We were supposed to stay out of the first Great War in the first place. The last thing we need is another. Hell, we're  _still_ trying to just pull through the Depression." Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, his body's condition showing the impacts of the Depression. Dark rings laid under his bloodshot eyes, limbs somewhat heavy. Sure, every country was affected by the Great War somehow, some less than others. "Even if I wanted to join another war, I'd never get the support of Roosevelt and the people."

  France and England sighed. This was the fifth time they've tried convincing America to join the war. Didn't he see that the two simply couldn't hold out long enough?! "Then maybe you should learn to control your people!" Arthur snapped. 

  America simply stood,

  and picked up the small folders that contained information about the Axis powers,

  and said dryly: "I am not willing to harm my country even more."

  And left, leaving behind an angered Britain and a weak, exhausted France.

 

  Alfred tucked the folder under his arm. There was no reason to declare war on the Axis powers, even if they were fighting with the Allies. Japan, Italy, and Germany hadn't done anything against America, so there was no purpose in the war for him right now. As of current, he just had to focus on helping his boss to get the economy back on its feet.

  It was as these thoughts went through him that it happened.

  The bombs fell. So, so many bombs. The flames tore through the roaring skies, Japanese planes dropping black... These black things upon the lands. No, no, no, no, no, they were bombs. He could see it. The blue sky turning a smoky gray. Maybe it was an accident? Maybe Kiku.... No. This wasn't an accident. This was an attack. He shakily dropped the files, clutching his head as explosions echoed through him. It was loud,  _so loud,_ and it hurt. He could see it. Rubble everywhere. Planes screaming through the sky. Bombs whistling through the air. Americans dying. 

  He heard himself muttering in pain " _No no no no no no no no no..._ " when the door he had come from opened and Arthur stepped out, looking desperate. "Alfred, please recon-  _Alfred!"_

  It was painful. More painful than the first Great War had been. The look of utter horror on his face must've been enough to alarm Arthur, clearly. Francis followed behind him, freezing right next to Arthur upon seeing Alfred.

  Gunshots... There was fighting. Explosions. Screams echoing through his mind. This was happening. Japan- Kiku was attacking Pearl Harbor for no reason. Did Kiku demand this to happen? Did his boss make this happen without Kiku's consent?! He caught himself wondering if anyone had somehow forced Japan to do it. Germany? Suddenly, a second wave of pain brought the nation to his knees. More bombs. They... Those  _Japs_ were destroying Pearl Harbor's fleet! Thousands... It felt like thousands of men were dying. They probably were.

  He didn't realize that Francis and Arthur speaking, consciousness phasing from the sounds of battle and England begging for America to explain, or just to say  _anything!_  

  "Th- They're...--" Alfred couldn't even form words. Men and ships exploded before his eyes, blood covering the ground where there was no ash. He didn't even notice the scars ripping into his back, burning and tearing and twisting his flesh, warm, thick blood seeping down his back into his shirt.

  And of course, Arthur and Francis panicked. England's experience as a pirate had taught him to bandage wounds properly, thank God, but he didn't quite have enough available fabric or bandaging. Would that even help Alfred? He.. didn't quite know. He's never seen events like this happen on other countries in front of him.

  He decided that, yes, it would at the very least mean he tried something. And he had America's cheap, awful sense of decoration to thank. Lining the walls occasionally, a small table with fake potted flowers and a long strip of red fabric beneath it. Clearly, they were not there by Alfred's decision.

  Arthur quickly pulled the long fabric from beneath the pot, not caring for the false soil that flew from it He pressed the cloth against the seemingly causeless wound, lightly at first. 

  Pressing the cloth harder a bit, hoping to stop the flow of blood, England leaned in forward, whispering into America's ear, one simple word: "Who?"

  At first, the reply came out strangled and pained, indecipherable. Then he repeated it again, seemingly trying hard not to cringe or cry out as England pressed on the cloth.

   **"Japan."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2's gonna be a thing, mAh dood.  
>  Check out my Tumblr! I post exclusive content including one shots, headcannons, and even the occasional additional chapter!
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/2bror

**Author's Note:**

> Here to murder some countries~


End file.
